


Your eyes, they shine so bright

by myriddin



Series: On Wing [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey
Genre: Aliens Made Them Do It, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Pern Fusion, Dragon Riders, F/M, Feudalism, Open Relationships, Telepathic Bond, mating flights, sex by proxy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-06-05 10:20:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6700996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myriddin/pseuds/myriddin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon wasn't sure if it was possible to fall in love in only a sevenday, but he never thought he'd have the chance to find out after his lover impressed a queen. After all, Ghoseth was only four, and everyone knew that only the strongest and biggest bronzes caught queens. But when Ghoseth takes an interest in the weyrling queen, Jon and Sansa realize things between them may not be as done as they thought.</p><p>Background Grenn/Pyp, Sam/Gilly, and Arya/Gendry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so for anyone who has never read any of the Pern series, there’s a quick run-down below so you don’t have to go look things up.
> 
> Pern is a medieval-esque, feudalist society that centers around three things: the Crafthalls (specialized professions), the Holds (residences and social center of most of the population), and the Weyrs (I’ll explain in a bit). The major Holds are quasi-urban centers ruled by Lord Holders, overlooking large rural territories and minor vassal Holds. The Holds owe tithes to the Weyrs in exchange for protection against a lethal biological phenomenon known as Thread (not important to this fic).
> 
> The Weyrs are the mountainside homes of the dragonriders. Dragons come in five colors, which denote gender, size, and rank. In order of increasing size and rarity: greens, blues, browns, bronzes, and golds. Both greens and golds are female, but only the rarer golds are fertile, thus their secondary name as “queens” as they are literally on top of the dragon and Weyr hierarchy. Bronzes are the only males large and strong enough to keep up with queens during mating flights, thus why they dominate over other males. The bronze riders serve as Wingleaders, the head of fighting wings, and sometimes as Wingseconds (along with brown riders).
> 
> Dragons form an incredibly strong empathetic and telepathic bond with their rider (Impression) from their Hatching, to the point that if one dies, the other is likely to follow out of sheer heartbreak. The strength of this bond carries over to mating flights, the emotions of the mating dragons are so strong that sex between the riders is near-compulsory. However, the rider’s feelings and preference can affect the female dragon’s choice. The senior-most queen rider in the Weyr is known as a Weyrwoman. She is the utmost social and political authority in the Weyr along with her Weyrleader, the rider of the bronze who caught her queen in the last mating flight.
> 
> *Traditionally, when a male rider Impresses, they shorten their name and contract the first syllable. In rare cases, their name is already so short (like Jon) they don't use the honorific.

_Fort Weyr- Fifth Pass, T15, 3rd Month_

Weyrleader J’ryn* stood on the Hatching Grounds at Fort Weyr, looking over at the stars of the event: the Weyr’s junior queen pair. Standing beside the golden queen, Runeth, was her rider, Alys, glowing with excitement. Runeth, hovering over her eggs, hissed at the young Candidates gathering around them.

A hush came over the crowd as the eggs began to shake violently. A rather large one fell over and the dragonet emerged. It was a bronze! Always a sign of good luck. The hatchling kept up its pitiful keening until a tall lad with a mess of dark hair kneeled beside it. He rested his hands lightly against the dragonet’s back and the bronze laid adoring eyes for the first time on his new bondmate.

Impression was made.

One by one, the dragonets emerged from their shells and found their life partners. J’ryn folded his arms across his chest, looking with satisfaction over the Hatching. It had been a good-sized clutch, thirty eggs total. He watched as his Wingsecond, Y’roy*, and the Weyrlingmaster, B’nden, led out the new riders and their dragonets, mentally counting the colors that passed him. Three bronzes, five browns, ten blues, and twelve greens. Good proportions.

Y’roy, he noticed, was wearing a strangely relieved expression. J’ryn looked closer at the retreating riders and finding nothing of interest, examined the remaining candidates left on the sands. _Ah_ , he thought knowingly. Y’roy was a proud man, as well as a stickler for tradition, particularly when it came to rider offspring and Impression. He’d been incredibly disappointed when none of his sons had Impressed bronze; A’dar Impressing brown had been some consolation, but R’bar riding blue and Waymar being left on the Grounds had severely pricked his pride. Y’roy wouldn’t have wanted his only daughter “wasted” on a green, he would want her free for the next time there was a queen egg available.

His Wingsecond had always been a little hidebound, but J’ryn could understand that feeling of watching a child of your own siring being chosen. J’ryn remembered it well.

Soon, as everyone descended into the Lower Caverns, the Hatching feast was started and the Caverns were filled with lively chatter. The new Weyrlings made their triumphant entrance a short time later. J’ryn walked around, congratulating new riders’ families. He inspected the wide, outstretched space, catching sight of Alys, and her weyrmate, St’nis. St’nis, a Wingleader, and his bronze, Baranth, were one of the most capable and competent fighting pairs the Weyr had. J’ryn couldn’t think of a stronger pair to have caught the fair Runeth.

A rumble of agreement from his dragon, Valeth, reverberated through his mind. There was a hint of inquiry between them about their absentee mates, but the memory of the two-decade younger Lysa and her sour distance toward him, had them both shaking their heads. Valeth nudged him with a reminder of their celebration, with a flash of the pride and beauty that had radiated from Runeth and Alys earlier that afternoon. J’ryn stifled a chuckle, feeling Valeth’s smug response in return. A father’s pride, he supposed. Valeth had sired the queen, after all, and J’ryn, the rider.

J’ryn allowed a soft smile to escape him, something he knew was barely seen on his craggy old face and certain to shock the youngsters around him. It was rare for him to think of himself as such, as anything other than the stern, dutiful Weyrleader he had been for so many Turns.

Before he could continue down that line of thought, however, as he found himself broken from his reverie by the approach of Steffon, the ever-jovial Lord Holder of Fort and his lovely Lady, Cassana. Steffon greeted him merrily, catching him in a fierce hug and cheerfully announcing, “J’ryn, you old wher! It’s been too long!”

“To you as well, St-“ The dragonrider wheezed as Steffon heartily clapped his back with a bit too much enthusiasm for a man ten Turns the Lord Holder’s senior. Cassana, being the insightful woman she was, immediately came to J’ryn’s rescue by gently extracting him from her husband’s hold. J’ryn gave her a grateful smile and offered her his arm, to which she took with a warm laugh. Her hand tucked firmly against his elbow, they walked together to the nearest table, Steffon trailing happily behind them.

He was introduced to some of Steffon’ more prominent holders, seated at the same table as the Lord Holder and his family. He was also warmly greeted by Robert, the eldest of Steffon and Cassana’s boys, before his attention was taken away by a pretty face elsewhere in the Caverns. As the man excused himself and disappeared into the crowd, J’ryn shared the same sigh of fond exasperation as the parents.

Greetings exchanged, J’ryn eased his way into the proffered chair beside Steffon. Just as he was about to ask the other man if he had yet visited with St’nis, his Weyrwoman, Lysa, sidled up beside him. She kissed the Lord’s cheek, exchanged pleasantries with his Lady, and courteously allowed herself to be introduced to the holders. Noticing the way she pointedly didn’t look at him, the way she held herself away from him despite being seated at his side, made him wince and sigh.

Ever since the passing of elderly Shyra seven Turns before, Lysa’s Tullith had been caught by Valeth in every mating flight since, more by sheer force of will than youth and strength. As Weyrleader since the beginning of the Pass, his solid, dependable leadership had been needed, though resented by his young Weyrwoman. Even Robin’s birth hadn’t warmed her to him, especially after J’ryn had granted Lord Hoster’s request for his grandson to be fostered back at Tillek. Perhaps his presence wouldn’t bother her for much longer, however. He and Valeth both felt it in their old bones; someday soon, they would not fly when Tullith rose. 

 _We have had our time_ , Valeth’s comforting rumble reminded him. _You have been a good leader_.

 _Thank you, old friend. I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you_.

J’ryn sighed, brushing a hand through his silver hair before turning his attention back into the conversation going on around him.

“One of Robert’s sons Impressed today,” Steffon was informing them.

“Congratulations,” Lysa said, smiling pleasantly at them. Cassana smiled back with the same gentility, thought there was a tinge of relief to the expression as well. J’ryn could only guess that the son hadn’t been a legitimate one. Robert certainly seemed determined to fill the ranks of the Weyrs and crafthalls, for all his Ruathan wife had proved plenty fertile.  

“Has…” Valeth provided the name to his ever-grateful rider, having picked it up from the conversation J’ryn had only listened to with half-an-ear, “…Gendry returned yet?”

“G’dry went to visit his sister,” came a young voice from behind him, J’ryn turning around to face the boy behind him. As he vaguely remembered there was a black-haired girl or two with Robert’s look in the Lower Caverns, his welcoming smile grew when he recognized the boy as the one to Impress the first bronze at the Hatching. “He sent me to tell the Lord and Lady.”

“Thank you, lad. And you, have you chosen a name for yourself?” the Weyrleader asked, studying the youth before him. He was tall for his age, but thin and rangy; J’ryn guessing him to be no more than thirteen or fourteen Turns. Hesitant eyes, barely visible beneath his mess of tousled dark hair, seemed to come to a decision when he straightened and faced the Weyrleader with such an air of new confidence, J’ryn felt a flash of pride for him despite just having met the boy.

“My name’s Jon, too short to be contracted. And Ghoseth likes it the way it is.” The boy grinned, white teeth flashing in a glowing, youthful face. “He said as much, before he dropped off snoring, full belly and all.”

J’ryn reached out, clasping the boy’s shoulders, and smiled warmly, Jon’s own grin infectious. “You’ll grow used to that, lad. They’re gluttons in their first few months.” He paused to listen to Valeth grumbling in protest in his mind, and he sent waves of warmth and love to soothe his bronze’s bruised feelings. “Congratulations, Jon, rider of bronze Ghoseth. Welcome to your new home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Jon Arryn = J’ryn
> 
> **Yohn Royce = Y’roy


	2. Chapter 2

_Fort Weyr- Fifth Pass, T20, 11_ th Month ****  
  
Jon was suddenly awoken one morning by the loud keening of several dozen dragons. He groaned, burying his face in his pillow, and reached out with his mind to his partner.

_What’s happening?_

_A green’s getting herself chased._ Ghoseth’s reply had the same drowsy quality as his rider, and something about that caught Jon’s attention.

_Not interested?_

_Not at the moment._ Their link quieting, Jon waited until the sound of draconic snoring filled both his head and the weyr, and he chuckled to himself, choosing to climb out of bed instead of following the bronze’s example. Naked, he slipped out from between the covers, hissing as his bare feet hit the cold floor. As he stretched, his eyes caught his image in the reflecting glass nearby, and he paused.

Holder-bred, nearly five Turns had now passed since he had first come to the Weyr, and he was no longer the scrawny, gangly youth he had been when he Impressed Ghoseth.

He was tall, able now to carry the height without his old awkwardness. His frame had filled out, shoulders and arms broadened, his body trim and leanly muscled. He had a handful of scars from training and Threadscore injuries, but it wasn’t enough to take away from his attractiveness. He was never one for vanity, but he wasn’t unaware of his looks, and he was no stranger to the intimate secrets a warm body and dark weyr could offer.

He quirked a smile and shook his head, turning his attention back to dressing, and maybe a bath if there was room, before his bits iced over in the chill. Winter at Fort was a wondrous time of year, he groused to himself.

xx

One of the best part of Fort’s Lower Caverns, besides the ever-encompassing promise of good food and companionship, was how wonderfully warm it was. Jon sighed with pleasure as he prodded down the stairs to the welcoming smells and heat, wonderful heat. He maneuvered through throngs of hungry and chatty riders to make his way toward the kitchens. The Headwoman, Jeyne, gave him a warm smile as he slipped in, pointedly ignoring the giggles of a few of the girls he passed by. Jeyne arched an eyebrow, gave him a wry look, and proceeded to dish him a bowl of porridge and a cup of fresh klah. “Spiced just the way you like it, love,” she told him.

Jon grinned, leaning down to kiss a wrinkled cheek. “Thank you, Jeyne. You’re an angel.”

Jeyne scoffed and lightly rapped his knuckles with her spoon, though the light coloring of her face had the rider’s smile widening all the more. “There’s fresh bread on the tables, if you can wrestle any away from your fellows. Now, get going, you charmer, before I let my girls have their pick of you.”

He gulped, casting a wary look at the trio of young women openly appraising him and he hastily nodded. “Best I should. Have a good morning, Jeyne.”

He scurried out of the kitchen, out into the busy bustle of the communal dining room and he sat himself down to the comfortable, familiar atmosphere to a table full of friends.

Snatching up the remainder of the table’s bread, he took a long draw of his klah, about to tuck into steaming spiced porridge when he caught G’renn giving him a strange look. “What?”

The brown rider gave him a sly smile. “You hear the green’s flight this morning?”

Jon snorted, and nodded his head. “How could I not? It woke me… _us_ …both, up.”

His fellow Wingsecond, bronze G’dry, gave him a curious look. “Ghoseth wasn’t interested?”

“Not in the least,” Jon sighed, “He’s still snoring away in the weyr.”

P’par, a green rider, propped up his chin and gave him an appraising look. “No interest at all? What is this, the fifth, sixth flight you’ve stayed grounded? Probably more.”

G’renn, G’dry, and Samwell, the Weyr’s Harper, looked at Jon with sudden interest. “He’s right,” G’dry said, “It seems a bit strange. Has Ghoseth even looked at a female since last spring?”

“Since Ygritte,” P’par corrected pointedly, and the entire table winced at the mention of Jon’s former weyrmate and the visceral memory of how badly things ended between them.

Jon glared at them, rather disgruntled about being put on the spot. “No. He hasn’t. I…” he trailed off, looking suddenly wistful, “It’s odd, almost like he’s waiting for something…” He shook his head, focusing on his fellows with a frowning defensiveness. “What about you four? You wouldn’t be here now if you’d been caught up in the chase.”

Sam smiled softly, leaning back in his chair as he sipped at his klah. “My quarters are near the Bowl, so Gilly and I both woke in an interesting mood.”

G’dry scooped out the last bit of porridge in his bowl, pointing his spoon vaguely westward. “I was running messages. Earned a few marks, but Bulloth was disappointed. He’s fond of Ianith.”

G’renn nodded in agreement, sighing wistfully. “I was on watch duty. Trust me, Auroth was plenty twitchy.” When P’par huffed at his words, G’renn folded his arms across his chest and glared at the shorter man. “Don’t you start. You don’t want to share my weyr, you don’t get a say in who Auroth chases.”

P’par rolled his eyes, reaching over to snatch away what remained of G’renn’s bread. “Don’t be a deadglow. Have you seen the size of what you’ve got between your legs? If Auroth flew Mummeth every time she rose, I’d never be able to walk, let alone ride Threadfall.”

G’renn flushed such a deep red his face was nearly purple and his friends broke out into uproarious laughter as he sputtered with indignation.

Grinning widely, Jon wiped away a tear left by the force of his laughter, “Eat hearty, boys,” he teased enthusiastically. “We’ve got Thread at 09:00.”

His only response was a chorus of protesting groans all around.

xx

Sansa, the most junior of Fort Weyr’s queen riders, sat on a ledge overlooking the Bowl, watching as Weyrlings and their young dragons popped in and out of Between over the practice grounds. Wrapped up as she was in hide and fur, she still shivered as a brisk wind blew by. It was midway through the 11th month of the Turn, and while there was still no snow, the weather was still significantly cold.

There was a muffled sound of movement from the weyr behind her, and seeing through her rider’s eyes, the sound of the young queen’s voice was full of yearning. _Can I fly like that?_

_We have to wait, dear heart. You’re not old enough yet._

_I’m the same age as the others._

_You’re a queen. The Weyrleaders say you can’t fly for a few more months._

Ladith grumbled. _I can descend to the feeding grounds, but I’m not allowed to fly._

Sansa smiled sympathetically. _I’m sorry, love_. The girl, and her bondmate through her, sighed and stared longingly at the open sky.

xx

The fighting wings suddenly appeared out of Between above the Weyr. Their Wingleader, St’nis, gave the signal to descend, and in response to Ghoseth’s continual complaining that he was starving, Jon chuckled as the pair made their way to the hunting ground. “Really, you glutton,” he commented as they dropped down, “You would think I never feed you. You just ate two days ago.”

Ghoseth chose not to reply, depositing his rider on the ground and lunging at the first herdbeast he saw. Jon glanced around, noticing the grounds were nearly empty. An elderly rider feeding his brown, who was more bronze with age than anything else. Two small greens, just barely out of Weyrling status, were playing as much as they were feeding. The bronze rider smiled at their jubilance, and his eyes widened as he realized who was near the mischievous greens.

**_Ghoseth!_ **

The young queen dragon, with her teeth buried deep in a beast’s neck, barely paid any mind to the bronze that veered off his path near her and swung his great head toward his rider. Ghoseth, older and larger in size than the queen, needed to be drawn back both in respect and for the female’s safety. The bronze moved away a decent distance, both males watching as the queen snagged another herdbeast.

Her rider, who had been chatting with the green riders, took notice of their retreat and she approached them. “It’s alright,” she said to Jon with a smile, “She’s almost done.”

Jon made to protest, but the girl spoke to the queen, cutting her off. The gold protested. “You will not gorge yourself, Ladith,” her rider chided, “Others have to eat.”

At that command, Ghoseth rushed forward at the herd with a ferocity and recklessness that had Jon groaning. He turned his head toward a resulting giggle, and the girl grinned at him, knowingly.

She was as beautiful as he remembered. The sight of the thick copper curls cascading around slender shoulders was enough to steal his breath, and the memory of how her willowy frame felt tucked up against his own brought a sweeping flood of bittersweet nostalgia. He swallowed against the lump in his throat and forced a wan smile. “Sansa,” he greeted softly.

River-blue eyes were impossibly soft, heavy with emotions he didn’t dare to try and decipher. “It’s good to see you, Jon.”

His smile grew lighter, more genuine. “You as well, Sansa. Our lady queen as well.” He turned toward Ladith with a soft, reverent expression.  “She’s quite beautiful. A good size for a queen, and such a lovely shade.”

Sansa smiled at the compliment, even more so at the soft crooning Ladith began at the human male’s praise. “She’s getting bigger, larger than the other dragonets.”

“She’s a queen. She’ll be larger than Ghoseth.”

“Dunno,” Sansa said dubiously, “Ghoseth’s pretty large.”

“Hmm…one of the biggest bronzes in the weyr.”

As they had been talking, Ladith and Ghoseth had gravitated toward one another, nuzzling and nudging against each other. Sansa giggled as she watched them, and Jon smiled as she watched her. Warmth flooded through him.

_Ghoseth?_

_Yes?_

_Was that you?_

A sound of agreement, and another feeling of that heat swelling in his chest. _She’s too young_ , Jon said firmly, finding himself not only speaking of the young queen. **_You’re_** _too young._

_She’ll grow. As she does, I will get stronger._

His breath catching, Jon swung his head around to stare incredulously at his dragon.

Last spring…the queen egg, Ladith’s egg…had hatched.

Looks like he found what Ghoseth had been waiting for.

**Author's Note:**

> *Jon Arryn = J’ryn
> 
> **Yohn Royce = Y’roy


End file.
